


Adelaster

by lilliquinn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Everyone is Trans, First work - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary, Nonbinary Character, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Sad, Sad Jehan, Self Harm, Transgender, Trigger Warnings, angst up the wazoo, im so sorry, nonbinary!Jehan, nonbinary!everyone basically, so much sad, the abc club is a trans rights group, trans 'verse, update tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilliquinn/pseuds/lilliquinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't an intervention.</p><p>There's no surprise wake-up call, no tears. None of that saccharin, stereotypical intervention stuff. There isn't even a real 'thing' to intervene for, no alcohol or drugs, just a brain with too little dopamine or serotonin, and a body that's tearing itself apart. It's too slow to be an intervention, with the sluggish, gentle integration of others into a life that's so far gone, trying to anchor it before it's too late.</p><p>It isn't an intervention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The ABC Club is a trans rights group.  
> Jehan uses xe/xem/xyr/xemself.  
> Grantaire uses he/him/his/himself.  
> Feuilly uses they/them/themself.  
> Enjolras uses vae/vaer/vaerself.  
> Bahorel uses he/him/himself.  
> Cosette uses ae/aer/aerself or she/her/herself.  
> The others use other pronouns, which I'll update as they enter the story.
> 
> This might be triggering, so if you are triggered by self harm mentions, depression, mentions of alcoholism, anxiety, and/or other mental health issues, I'd advise you to please please please stay away from this fic  
> Stay safe <3

It isn't an intervention.

There's no surprise wake-up call, no tears. None of that saccharin, stereotypical intervention stuff. There isn't even a real 'thing' to intervene for, no alcohol or drugs, just a brain with too little dopamine or serotonin, and a body that's tearing itself apart.

It isn't an intervention.

* * *

 

"Okay" was one of the only words Jehan had said in the past month, the others being "no" and "oh", and occasionally a small, choked, crying noise that Grantaire thought sounded suspiciously like "I'm sorry", and that's how Grantaire first knew something was off.

Grantaire had been living with Jehan for over a year, and had seen the small poet in a multitude of moods:ecstatic, hopeful, disappointed, angry, content, anxious (the last one being a seemingly permanent, fixed feeling for the both of them), and yet none of those moods had spiraled into anything worse than a sleepless night or two, with one of Jehan's notebooks filling up with different colors of ink.

This was much different. 

Xe hadn't written in ages, barely moved or ate, and slept constantly (or pretended to sleep, simply to avoid human contact). And xe wasn't talking. 

Xe was a wreck, and Grantaire had no idea what to do.

The artist ran his fingers through his hair and set a cup down beside his friend.

"Tea."

"Okay." 

Grantaire sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at Jehan, who looked awful. Unwashed, underfed, and constant crying and oversleeping had taken their toll. Xe was nearly the same pale white as xyr sheets, and xyr hand was cold when Grantaire brushed his hand over it.

"Hey, do you, y'know, need anything? A blanket, some food, anything?" He hoped he didn't sound too desperate, but Jehan turned over a little, making an almost imperceptible shrug.

"No."

"Okay. You'll let me know, though, if you do?"

A small nod. 

"Okay." Grantaire said, not knowing what to do next. He picked up one of the notebooks on xyr desk and laid it on the bed next to xem, along with the pens xe liked so much, one of the thick rainbow ones that could switch colors with the flick of a button. Xe always wrote happy poems with that pen, and loved to doodle on xemself with it, using all the colors to make beautiful designs on xyr skin to cover the marks xe had made years ago, or maybe months? He never asked how clean Jehan was, and he wondered if that was a mistake, if he should ask now, or look under xyr long, grey sleeves. 

No, that wasn't what either of them needed.

He didn't think.

At least, not right now.

Grantaire saw himself out quickly.

He hated seeing his best friend nearly comatose, and had no idea how to help xem with whatever was wrong.

He had given xem time to maybe bounce back on xyr own, but it had been too long, and he was out of his depth (He could barely handle his own depression and recovery, let alone someone else's).

 

He picked up his phone.

 

**To: Feuilly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Enjolras, Joly, Courfeyac, Combeferre, Eponine, Marius, Cosette**

**::i dont think jehan is doing so well::**

 

The replies were almost instant.

 

**Courfeyac ::what's wrong?? is xe okay??? Where have u been??::**

 

**Bossuet :: whoa is everything alright? Neither of u have texted in weeks::**

 

**Eponine :: if u need me, i'll b rite over::**

 

**Bahorel ::shit that sucks do you need anything::**

 

**Marius ::what's wrong w/jehan? Where have u been??::**

 

**Cosette ::I only live 2 blocks over do you need me?::**

 

**Joly ::is xe ill? Are you ill?::**

 

**Combeferre ::What do you mean not doing so well is everything ok? Why haven't you contacted us?::**

 

**Enjolras ::tell me what's happening is everyone safe::**

 

**Feuilly ::be right there, hold on::**

 

Grantaire let out a relieved breath. Feuilly, having been Jehan's old roommate, was definitely someone they both needed right now.

 

He shot off a text to everyone else.

 

**To: Bossuet, Bahorel, Enjolras, Joly, Courfeyac, Combeferre, Eponine, Marius, Cosette**

**::i think it's depression stuff? not sure. both safe for the moment i think. meetup at apollo's house tomorrow okay with everyone? need to meet/update::**

 

He hoped it was a decent, if vague, explanation, and everyone agreed to meet at Enjolras' the following day without too much fuss.

 

It was barely 20 minutes after Grantaire had sent out the first text  when Feuilly arrived al the small apartment, slightly out of breath from the three staircases they presumably ran up. They were holding a large, hastily thrown-together bag that drooped under the weight of it's contents. 

"Where is xe?" 

Grantaire pointed to xyr room, and followed Feuilly to the doorway. 

"Should I stay out here, or...?" 

"No, come in, you might need to know what to do for later on."

He hoped not, but followed Feuilly into the small room.

It was a beautiful room. Xe had Grantaire's drawings everywhere, along with xyr own, and had painted the walls yellow and orange and pink and green, which didn't really matter as xe had written on nearly every inch of those walls, xyr own stanzas and other's work, blended together with Sharpie and paint. 

It was a beautiful room, with a nearly invisible desk, laden with loose papers and notebooks and comics and books and pens and pencils. 

It was a beautiful room, but Jehan looked so out of place in it now, cold and pale and thin, and Feuilly looked at Jehan gently and sat where Grantaire had earlier. Jehan's eyes followed them. 

"Jehan." Jehan looked away. "Jehan, may I touch you?" 

A hesitant nod, and Feuilly reached out and took Jehan's hand. Both of them shivered, Feuilly from the cold, and Jehan from the warmth, and from human contact. 

Grantaire looked on quietly, trying not to notice the difference between Jehan's hand and Feuilly's, trying not to look at how Feuilly's hand dwarfed Jehan's, or how Jehan's was shaking, or how much paler Jehan's hand was. He didn't notice.

"Is it cold?" Feuilly asked, leaning so they were looking into Jehan's eyes.

Another small nod. Feuilly nodded. It was nearing November, and Jehan was always cold; sometimes in the summertime xe was nicknamed 'the human icicle'.

Joly had said something about poor circulation. 

Now, in the late fall, xe was freezing. 

"Could you grab us the softest blankets you have?" It was directed at Grantaire, who nodded and left to strip their slightly under stocked linen cabinet for the blankets he had knitted while getting sober. He always chose the softest yarns he could, and comforted himself with them while he was making them and after their completion, counting stitches or running his hands over the soft, fluffy fabric. They had been a huge part of him getting better.

They were mostly pastel. One was rose pinks and light greens with lavenders and blues, another was all pale yellow, and another was a patchwork of all the colors he had left over. He haphazardly rolled then into his arms and re-entered the room.

"Here. Do either of you need anything else?"

"Tea."

Jehan's words made Grantaire smile, though xyr voice was rough from disuse, and more quiet than usual. Xe talked. Said something other than 'No' or 'Okay', and that was good. That was very good.

"Lots of sugar, and honey, and anything else you can put in there. Xe needs calories." Feuilly whispered to him. He nodded. Jehan definitely needed them.

As Grantaire left to boil the water, he looked back and watched as Feuilly arranged the soft blankets around Jehan, making a small nest.

Things looked slightly better, but it was still much worse than he would like to admit. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a meeting.  
> Feuilly talks a lot.

Meetings had started taking place at the Musain a few months before Grantaire had started getting sober.

It was a nice place, hipsterish, but in a way that appealed to everyone. With it’s variety of mismatched couches and chairs and a small stage, it was perfect.

Jehan had found the place, had fallen in love with the yellow chair in the corner, the variety of flowers all around the small store, the fact that everyone there used xyr pronouns, and the incredible coffee, and instantly recommended that the Les Amis switch over immediately.

It was a good decision.

Everyone found something that they loved.

Grantaire and Bahorel always tried to beat each other to the soft, velvet green speckled bench that they always ended up sharing.

Feuilly had developed a near-obsession with the strawberry smoothies the cafe served, buying two or three with each meeting. They, inevitably, nearly got sick with all the sugar, and at least once a meeting, they would get brainfreeze, which they said was ‘completely worth it’.

Enjolras loved buying things from local artists, knowing that they needed all the help and support they could get, and had amassed a rather large collection of small trinkets and tokens and pieces of jewelry.

Bossuet liked the apple pie pastries that they served, and the fact that the staff seemed to be understanding when accidents happened.

Cosette sat out on the patio as much as ae could, but inevitably ended up with Marius, sharing a tan couch that sunk a little too much to be wholly comfortable under their combined weights.

 

Joly loved the cleanliness of the place, with the delicious espressos.

Courfeyac had that ugly orange striped chair that everyone made fun of, but that they adored.

Eponine had started working there, and said she liked watching all the ridiculous people that came in on a daily basis.

Combeferre enjoyed the great wifi and the wooden stool that was always perched by the stage.

They all had their things. It seemed different, Grantaire noticed, without Jehan perched in some ridiculous, awkwardly comfortable position in xyr mustard-colored chair, reading or writing, and without Feuilly’s constant fidgeting and the pervasive smell of strawberry.

And it was different because Grantaire was standing on the small stage with Enjolras.

“Okay,” he said, shuffling his feet. “Uh, Jehan hasn’t been doing so well right now. Feuilly’s with xem, but I don’t know what’s going on or why xe’s like this or why _now_ , or why, uh, why I didn’t try to contact anyone earlier, but it’s been bad, it’s been really bad.”

The words were clunky and foreign, tripping out of his mouth like blocks that didn’t fit and _why couldn’t he talk like Enjolras with vaer fluidity and authority these words were not_ like _him_ , but they were understood, which was all they really needed to do.

Everyone started speaking at once, and Musichetta, the Musain’s manager and honorary Les Amis member, shushed them until they fell silent.

“What can we do?” Marius’ voice was filled with concern, as Grantaire imagined everyone’s would be. He shrugged.

“I mean, when Feuilly’s here they’ll be able to say more, but I’m guessing it’s gonna take a lot.” Muffled whispers. “I texted Feuilly, they’re going to be here in 20. I’ll head back. You all can figure out what’s going to help the most. Okay?” Nods from all around. “Good. Okay." He was never good with words unless he was drunk. His words were always awkward and unfamiliar, and he left for his apartment, leaving the nervous group behind him

The Les Amis were one of the most influential and productive trans rights groups in the world. They saved lives, protested, called legislators, made websites, testified, and displayed information and resources everywhere they could, and for the next 20 minutes, they were absolutely helpless.

\----------------------

Feuilly arrived, naturally, 21 minutes later. with a large, heavy, canvas bag hefted over their shoulder. They smiled at the rest of the group before opening the bag and laying its contents on the stage, babbling as they did so.

"Alright, this is a bag I put together a long time ago, okay? And it took a while to figure out what worked and what didn't, but we came up with this stuff. Some are fairly obvious, first aid kit and stuff like that, and that was good, it helped a ton overall. So I made a bag of it all and kept it just in case." Enjolras interrupted them by placing a hand on their shoulder gently, holding out a bright pink smoothie.

"Here, before you go any further." Feuilly smiled, taking huge gulps of it and wincing. 

Some things didn't change.

"Thanks! Okay, right-"

"Has xe, y'know....?" it was an elephant in the room, but Feuilly shook their head.

"Relapsed? Not that I'm aware of, no, which is good. So i have a first aid kit here, but it might be out of date by a year or so?" Joly visibly winced. "I also got this Play-Dough, and this special notebook and it's special because look how nice it looks it was so fucking expensive oh my god, and this cool pen," they held up a large pen. It was almost clear, and glittery. "It actually changes colors while you write, we bought like 80 and I stockpile them in here. Um, then there's this floral blanket xe found on the side of the road one time, and xe wouldn't let me throw it out, and, I mean, after xe washed it it looked really nice, so hey. Then there's candy and stuff, I restocked that so t wouldn't get disgusting. Lots of peppermints, remember that weird conference we went to where xe stole all the mints and hid them in xyr pockets, and then stockpiled them in that tin Avengers lunchbox when we came back? Yeah, I bought some for xem after that. The whole apartment smelled like peppermint for days until we ate them all."

Some of them did remember the conference, and could vividly reimagined the triumphant crowing of Jehan as xe dumped the 36 mints that xe had stuffed into xyr seemingly tiny pockets all over xyr hotel bed (the dork). "There used to be a little book filled with pictures and stuff, but I have no idea where that is, which sucks, and then I have little stuffed animals, which I left with Jehan when I came here, so."

Feuilly's  babble was a contant thing, and the group had grown accustomed to within 3 months of their arrival into the Les Amis. They had a slight accent that no one could really place. Their ginger hair bounced as they talked and fidgeted, tapping their toes and drumming their fingers on the dark wood of the stage. This was normal for them: they had a lot of extra energy, and a lot of their fidgeting was rhythmic, too, grounding them. They even grew their nails out to make the tapping more fun. It was just a thing. They all had their things, and no one made fun of them. It made things better. It made things safer.

Now it was time to make it even safer.

"So now what?"

"Well..."

 


	3. Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, remember, remember when we went to that Pride Parade a couple years back?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras' uses vae/vaer/vaerself.  
> Jehan uses xe/xem/xyr/xemself.  
> Grantaire uses he/him/his/himself.  
> Feuilly uses they/them/themself.  
> Bahorel uses ze/zey/zem/zemself  
> Eponine uses she/her/hers/herself  
> Marius uses he/him/his/himself.  
> Courfeyac uses ne/nym/nis/nymself or she/her/hers/herself  
> Cosette uses ae/aer/aers/aerself  
> Bossuet uses he/him/his/himself  
> Combeferre uses he/him/his/himself  
> Joly uses they/them/themself
> 
> trigger warning for Jehan's thought processes, which are extremely dark. Other than that, it's a short little chapter, fluffier than the last ones.  
> The comfort starts here, friends.

_cold and cold and cold and everything was so useless and awful and useless useless useless you're so fucking useless you can't do anything right you're awful you're awful just die just die just die just move just do anything do something fuck fuck fuck find something sharp find something sharp and relieving and die die die die die die die die move move move move i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i just i just i just_

"Jehan?" _grantaire. r. here. here here? warm. warm. nice. (awful you're awful die)_

"Hey, do you need anything?" _say something. (die die hurt self die) shrug? shrug. okay. shrug._

"Okay. Do you want me to stay with you?" _yes warm nod nod nod. (useless useless die die die die useless worthless worthless) friend. nod. yes_

"Okay, cool. Cool. Do you want me to talk? Is that okay?" _yes yes (useless worthless awful trash) nod nod nod yes (useless useless useless) please r please talk_

Grantaire sat on the other side of xem, gingerly settling himself down on the bed. "Are you okay with touching?" _human contact human human friend human (death suicide death death) friend yes yes nod nod nod_

Grantaire moved closer so their sides touched. _warm warm warm (death death) warm warm warm nice warm friend friend_

"Hey, remember, remember when we went to that Pride Parade a couple years back? And they didn't like us being there, because we weren't all cis white gay boys? Apollo was so pissed, and Bahorel was ready to punch that guy in the face, and Combeferre looked so sad, right? And Courf walked back to the van and came back with that keyboard no one knew ne could play and ne made up that fucking song, that fucking song, it was so great, I think you transcripted it, right? I know it's on YouTube, do you wanna watch it?"

_nod nod yes nod fun (sad) fun good times good time_

R pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I know it's here somewhere, fuck. I have no idea who recorded it, but god bless, y'know? Here it is." he held the phone up so they could both watch it.

It was fuzzy, and blurry, and the camera shook. The sound was grainy. There was glitter on the camera lens. It was definitely a video from a Pride Parade.

Enjolras was yelling at the man who'd denied them access (and how fucked up was _that_ , honestly, what the fuck?), and Courfeyac just walked away from the group. Bossuet had turned to nym, but turned back around. Blurriness, then Bahorel punching a brick wall as Joly talked to nem soothingly. Chaos. Blurriness, and then there it was. Courfeyac walked slowly, carrying a battery-powered keyboard, finally sitting on the ground in front of Enjolras and the man, and everyone turned in silent curiosity. Even the man, who was now beet red from Enjolras yelling in his face, faced Courfeyac, who played a dramatic few chords as loud as ne could, and, completely deadpan, started singing, looking the man in the eye.

"Ooooooooooh, oooooooooooooooooooooooh

Goooooooooooooooooooo fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck yourseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllllllllf

youuuuuuu pieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeece of traaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaash

goooooooooooooooooooooooooo die in a hooooooooooooooooooooooooooole

gooooooooooooooooooooooooooo fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck yourseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllllllffff"

they added in a couple 'ooh''s, but the general message got across. The Les Amis hooted, cheering, and the man had backed down. Cue the blurriness and then the video stopped. The video had gone viral before the end of the week, and Courfeyac had gotten a lot of cis people very upset at nym, and very quickly became an idol for trans kids. All in all, Courfeyac was wonderful and had kickstarted the Les Amis' reputation, while getting them into Pride Parade. It was a day everyone looked back on fondly. 

Grantaire looked over to Jehan, who had the smallest smile on xyr face. He grinned.

_warm friend good fun fun friends friends fun fun good_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jehan's inner thoughts are disjointed and weird, which is similar to mine during a bad time. It's not this way for everyone, though.
> 
> Courfeyac's song is TOTALLY NOT BASED ON THE CHARLIE KELLY 'GO FUCK YOURSELF' SONG  
> ((There's a spider (spider, spider)  
> He's deep in my soul (soul, soul)  
> He's lived here for years (years, years)  
> He just won't let go  
> He's laying around  
> He's got a mean bite  
> Now he's ready to fight...  
> And stand up for what he knows...  
> I don't need your trophies or your gold  
> I just want to tell you all  
> Go fuck yourselves...  
> Go fuck yourselves...  
> Go fuck yourselves...  
> I really mean to tell you  
> Fuck you motherfuckers  
> I don't need you in my bar...))


End file.
